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A Whole New World
Well, hello September. I hope this Workout Wednesday post finds you and your loved ones healthy and safe and stealing some moments of sunshine as another summer winds down. I thought I’d kick off another almost-fall season here at LauraLovesFitness with an update on how my world has changed in a way I never could have imagined.
I find it nearly impossible to believe it’s been roughly six months since New York City basically went into shut down mode. Only a few weeks before, I had decided to make a major career change and leave the world of corporate video production and hosting to become a personal trainer. When the gyms closed, I had no idea what I’d do next. I never could have imagined just a few months later I’d be using the journalism skills I learned during my years at Northwestern as part of the New York City Health + Hospitals Test and Trace Corps.
My official title is contact monitor. From Sunday through Thursday, I reach out to those who have tested positive for COVID-19 (cases) along with contacts they’ve identified. Sometimes I’m the first person to alert a neighbor he or she has been in close contact with a case. The purpose of each and every call is to conduct wellness checks, encourage the case or contact to follow the appropriate isolation or quarantine guidelines and also provide resources. That includes everything from providing the phone number for the city’s mental health hotline to setting up food or medication deliveries and informing my neighbors about the free hotel rooms available for those who need a place to isolate or quarantine safely.
It has been a challenging and rewarding experience so far. I’m able to do my work remotely, though there are other members of Test & Trace who go out into the community when multiple attempts to reach people by phone fail. Thanks to help from translators, I’ve communicated with my neighbors in many languages, including Spanish, Bengali, Russian and Mandarin. I talk to nervous parents of pediatric contacts as young as three years old and happily tell a 75-year-old case they can get back to the “new” normal on their last day of isolation or quarantine. While I do this work from my laptop, I “meet” with my supervisor and the rest of the contact monitors in my team for a virtual chat each morning. We also reach out to each other to vent after a particularly emotional call or on a day when we just need some extra support. We all look forward to the day when the 20 of us can meet in person.
As we muddle our way through a September like no other, my heart goes out to students, parents, teachers and administrators across the country who have either started or are gearing up for a first-of-its kind academic year. I also think of the gym owners and fitness professionals and those still struggling with whether they feel “safe” enough to return to their favorite workout spot. Then there are the struggling restaurant and small business owners; out-of-work Broadway actors and crew members; healthcare and essential workers; and pretty much everyone still doing their best to keep it together day after challenging day. Last but certainly not least, I think of all the victims of 9/11 and the families and friends who continue to mourn them as we approach the 19th anniversary of that horrific day.
No doubt we’re all in for a strange fall season. Here’s to hoping things improve a little each day and we simply do the best we can to have fun, be fit and feel fabulous!
So Many Emotions
The calendar makes it impossible for me to write my usual Transformation Tuesday post. It’s hard to analyze the daily struggles and little victories of the past week as I continue to prepare for the Brooklyn Grand Prix. Instead, I find myself overwhelmed yet again with the eternally vivid memories of the day that changed the world forever. It seems impossible that tomorrow will mark 18 years since the heartbreaking events of September 11, 2001. Despite the passage of time, each year this date creeps up on so many of us like it all just happened yesterday.
As my longtime readers know, back then I was working as a reporter at News 12 Connecticut. My colleagues and I watched the newsroom’s multiple TV screens in horror as the second plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center. That moment when we realized it wasn’t an accident was the first and only time I can remember a newsroom being completely silent. There were no lessons from my journalism classes at Northwestern or past experiences as a reporter that could have prepared me for that unfathomable day. Before leaving the newsroom, I left a message on my parents’ answering machine telling them how much I loved them.
In that age before Facebook and Instagram, many of my friends tried to reach me on my cell phone – when the circuits weren’t jammed – to see if I could help find any information about a loved one who worked in the city. Receiving those messages in between countless live reports broke my heart. I learned later that several of those people being searched for were indeed gone. In the days that followed, I also learned a friend and former News 12 Long Island colleague, Glen Pettit, was killed. A videographer and NYPD officer, he was last seen with his camera on his shoulder running toward the towers to capture footage. Glen was 30 years old.
Along with the sadness, shock and anger felt around the country after the attacks, I also remember another unprecedented turn of events. Stores couldn’t keep Americans flags on the shelves and random acts of kindness were reported everywhere. Eighteen years later, I realize my three Goddaughters – all born after that fateful day – have probably never witnessed that kind of unity in the country they call home. Today, they see social media feeds where bullying takes on a whole new level as people lash out at others who don’t share their views on everything from politics to fashion. Honestly, when I think about the state of our world today, it makes me want to cry all over again.
Never one to be political in this blog or on my social media channels, I can’t help write about what’s in my heart. As we mark another 9/11 anniversary, we’re bombarded with headlines surrounding the latest discord in Washington and the destruction in the Bahamas caused by Hurricane Dorian. Meanwhile, despite more acts of senseless violence, we’re no closer on this anniversary than the last to resolving volatile issues in our country including gun control. With the 2020 campaign looming closer, I fear our divisiveness will only get worse. What a mess.
As we commemorate another September 11th this week, let us all stop and pray for all those lost on this day 18 years ago. Let us also honor their memory by remembering the power of love and compassion.
God Bless America.
Remembering 9/11: 17 Years Later
Today, the old saying “time heals all wounds” is nothing short of senseless. Some might even call it offensive. Seventeen years after the day that changed the world as we know it forever, it’s impossible to imagine anyone who lost a loved one on 9/11 not experiencing sadness and pain.
No matter how much time passes, I am simply overwhelmed each year by the all-too vivid memories of what started out as a crisp and clear picture-perfect day here in New York City. As my longtime readers know, back then I was working as a reporter at News 12 Connecticut. My colleagues and I watched the newsroom’s multiple TV screens in horror as the second plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center. That moment when we realized it wasn’t an accident was the first and only time I can remember a newsroom being completely silent. Then, in what seemed like a blurred frenzy, our assistant news director shifted into auto-pilot and sent us out into the field with videographers and live trucks. There were no lessons from my journalism classes at Northwestern or past experiences as a reporter that could have prepared me for that unfathomable day. Before leaving the newsroom, I left a message on my parents’ answering machine telling them how much I loved them.
I don’t remember how many live shots I did that day or how many people I interviewed. I do remember the faces of the medical team anxiously waiting to treat injured survivors; the tearful embrace between an ash-covered man and the woman waiting for him on the platform; and all the cars that remained in the parking lot as midnight approached. I wondered how many people would never return to claim them.
In that pre-Facebook world, many of my friends tried to reach me on my cell phone – when the circuits weren’t down or busy – to see if I could help find any information about a loved one who worked in the city. Receiving those messages in between countless live reports broke my heart, and I’d learn later that several of those people being searched for were indeed gone. In the days that followed, I also learned a former friend and News 12 Long Island colleague, Glen Pettit, was killed. A talented videographer, Glen was also a NYPD officer. He was last seen with his camera on his shoulder running toward the towers to capture footage. Glen was 30 years old.
Along with the sadness, shock and anger felt around the country after the attacks, I also remember another unprecedented turn of events. Stores were selling out of Americans flags and random acts of kindness were reported everywhere. Seventeen years later, I realize all three of my Goddaughters – all born after that fateful day – never witnessed that kind of unity in the country they call home. Today, they see social media feeds where bullying takes on a whole new level as people lash out at others who don’t share their beliefs. Simply put, when I think about the state of our world today, it makes me want to cry all over again.
Never one to be political in this blog or on my social media channels, I can’t help write about what’s in my heart. As we mark another 9/11 anniversary, we’re bombarded with headlines surrounding the latest discord in Washington and looming disasters as hurricane season continues. We also continue to struggle with volatile issues ranging from gun control to the cost of healthcare. We even post scathing, combative messages for all the world to see about everything from Nike’s choice of a spokesperson to Serena Williams’ loss at the U.S. Open. What a mess.
On this September 11th, as we all stop and pray for all those lost on this day 17 years ago, let us also honor their memory by remembering the power of love and compassion.
God Bless America.
Special Tuesday Edition: Remembering 9/11
May We Never Forget
As our nation commemorates the 11th anniversary of 9/11, I hope you will forgive this break from my ordinary health and fitness posts as I share my thoughts surrounding the day that changed our lives forever.
Some of you may remember my account from last year’s anniversary. Considering the significance of this day in our history, I thought it was worth repeating.
On that bright, crisp day in 2001, I was a general assignment reporter at News 12 Connecticut. Shortly after 8:46 am, as we prepared for the daily meeting, our morning show executive producer ran out of her office to tell us a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Soon, all the televisions behind the assignment desk were breaking in with news of what we thought was a horrible accident. We then watched in horror as the second plane hit the South Tower.
It was the first and only time I can remember a newsroom being brought to complete silence. What followed was a blur. Our assistant news director shifted into auto-pilot and sent us out. Reporters teamed up with videographers and sped off in live trucks. There were no lessons from my journalism classes or past experiences as a reporter that could have helped me prepare for that unfathomable day. Before leaving the newsroom, I left a message on my parents’ answering machine telling them how much I loved them. I’m pretty sure I said a few prayers, too.
I started the day reporting on local reaction from people glued to the TVs at a local diner in Norwalk. Eventually, I was sent to the Fairfield train station. A medical team was set up for triage to help those returning from the city. As the trains began pulling in late in the day, men and women emerged from the cars covered in ashes. Those were the people I knew I had to approach for live interviews. Some approached me. Most were in shock. In between live shots, I would sit in the news car and cry. When I had cell service, I would check for voice messages with any news about my many friends and loved ones who lived or worked in the city.
I couldn’t tell you how many live shots I actually did that day or how many people I interviewed. I do remember the faces of the medical team anxiously waiting to treat injured survivors; the tearful embrace between an ash-covered man and the woman waiting for him on the platform; and all the cars that remained in the parking lot as midnight approached. I wondered how many people would never return to claim them.
In the days that followed, I learned a former colleague and friend from News 12 Long Island, Glen Pettit, was killed. He was a talented videographer and NYPD officer. I learned about other people’s loved ones who were killed. I held back tears while interviewing people who still hoped someone they loved would come home. I held back tears while speaking with members of the Stamford fire department who wanted to do more to help their firefighter family in the Manhattan. In the fleeting moments when I was alone, I let the tears flow freely.
I also remember how sales of American flags skyrocketed and how people wanted to help each other in whatever way possible. We were wounded, but the American spirit was not broken.
Eleven years later, as we remember those who lost their lives on that tragic day, let us honor each and every one of them by doing good for others.
God Bless America.
Remembering 9/11
As our nation prepares to commemorate an anniversary that cannot be forgotten, I hope you will forgive me for this break from my fitness writing to share some thoughts surrounding the 10-year anniversary of September 11th.
On that bright, crisp day in 2001, I was a general assignment reporter at News 12 Connecticut. Shortly after 8:46 am, as we prepared for the daily meeting, our morning show executive producer ran out of her office to tell us a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Soon, all the televisions behind the assignment desk were breaking in with news of what we thought was a horrible accident. We then watched in horror as the second plane hit the South Tower. It was the first and only time I can remember a newsroom being absolutely silent. Then, in what seemed like a blurred frenzy, our assistant news director shifted into auto-pilot and sent us out with videographers and live trucks. There were no lessons from my journalism classes or past experiences as a reporter that could have helped me prepare for that unfathomable day. Before leaving the newsroom, I left a message on my parents’ answering machine telling them how much I loved them.
I started the day reporting on local reaction from people glued to the TVs at a local diner in Norwalk. Eventually, I was sent to the Fairfield train station. There was a medical team set up for triage to help those returning from the city. As the trains began pulling in late in the day, men and women emerged from the cars covered in ashes. Those were the people I knew I had to approach for live interviews. Some approached me. Most were in shock. In between live shots, I would sit in the news car and cry. When I had cell service, I would check for voice messages with any news about my many friends and loved ones who lived or worked in the city.
I don’t remember how many live shots I did that day or how many people I interviewed. I do remember the faces of the medical team anxiously waiting to treat injured survivors; the tearful embrace between an ash-covered man and the woman waiting for him on the platform; and all the cars that remained in the parking lot as midnight approached. I wondered how many people would never return to claim them.
In the days that followed, I learned a former colleague and friend from News 12 Long Island, Glen Pettit, was killed. He was a talented videographer and NYPD officer. I learned about other people’s loved ones who were killed. I held back tears while interviewing people who still hoped someone they loved would come home. I held back tears while speaking with members of the Stamford fire department who wanted to do more to help their brothers in the city. In the fleeting moments when I was alone, I let the tears flow freely.
I also remember how sales of American flags skyrocketed and how people wanted to help each other in whatever way possible. We were wounded, but the American spirit was not broken. Ten years later, as we remember those who lost their lives on that tragic day, may we honor their memories by doing good for others. If you need ideas, I hope a recent interview with MyGoodDeed co-founder David Paine offers some inspiration.
http://www.westglen.com/hhrtv/current/1.php
God Bless America.
lauralovesfitness 